


The Anniversary

by VinHampton



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 03:55:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1730219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VinHampton/pseuds/VinHampton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story from the Russia years. Vin is sent out on a job by Yuri.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Anniversary

“Tonight? Even tonight?” Ivan glared at Vin, who was sitting at the sofa, hunched over her phone. They both knew what it meant when the phone made that sound, the sound of a bell tolling. It only made that sound when Ivan sent a message. At least nobody could accuse Vin of being without a sense of humour. Vin tried to make herself small and concentrated on the small glowing screen and the symbols – Cyrillic – which after all these years she still had to concentrate to read properly. She didn’t dare look up at Ivan, whose face she knew would be twisted by anger or, worse, disappointment. The message was like every message Yuri sent her, and it contained a place and time.

-RADISSON. ROOM 275. 8PM. YURI-

She didn’t reply; he didn’t expect any form of confirmation – these were not requests; they were orders. She glanced at the time on her phone. 7PM, and the hotel would be about a half-hour away. She chewed her bottom lip, at least she was already dressed. She would need to call and cancel the dinner reservation. 

“No. I forbid it. Tell him you are sick.”  
Vin finally mustered up the courage to look up at Ivan, whose brow was furrowing, the lines there deep-set, like ancient ruts on a young face. Her voice came out small. “You know I cannot do that.”   
“It’s our anniversary, Elena. That means nothing to you? It means nothing to that beast?”  
She looked away, glowing white with shame. She didn’t need to remind him what Yuri thought of their relationship; it was always there, ruled into the pages where their sentences were written. She knew Ivan was thinking the same. “I swear he knows and he is doing this on purpose. To ruin everything.”   
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. She had been looking forward to the dinner for weeks. The dress she was wearing was meant to be for him. When she lined her eyes, when she brushed her hair, when she sprayed on her perfume, it was Ivan she had been thinking of. Ivan, with his big, dark eyes she wanted to drown in. Now, it would all be for somebody else, and ‘sorry’ would never be good enough. 

With whatever grace she had, she stood up and walked to him, wanting to touch his face. He brushed her away. “You are a whore,” he said, but softly, and locked himself in their room. It was a harsh syllable, like a slap across the face. But there was no time for introspection. Here in Moscow, no time for arguments. Unhappily, she pulled her coat on, tying the belt tight around her waist. She drew a small heart in black ink on a napkin and left it on the kitchen counter, walking out of the flat, locking the door behind her. 

Niko was waiting in the car outside. He smiled at her as she got into the back seat. She nodded once, and rested her head against the window as he drove off. The city was a blur in the darkness. The sun had set and even St Basil looked monochrome at this hour. Ivan had never said he was alright with their arrangement, but then he never did have a choice. She couldn’t understand why he stayed when happiness was scarce and fleeting. Many nights looked like this one, but his spoken insult was new. She understood that he was hurt, and that echoed back to her like an arthritic ache. Niko pushed a button and the radio blared to life, Russian pop music. Even in his leather jacket and with studs in his ear, he mouthed along to the song, so Vin could imagine the candyfloss girlie voice belting out the notes in guttural diction was his. 

Vin arrived at the hotel five minutes early, her hands shaking. In the lobby, she popped a Diazepam and chased it with a few sips of water. By the time she rode the lift to the second floor, the shaking had stopped and all she felt was sad. She looked in the mirror and smoothed her hair down with one hand; the chirpy music in the lift was only there to taunt, it felt like. Lowering her chin slightly, she practised a self-assured smile, which she wore all the way to the door. Knocking, she leant gently against the doorjamb until the sound of feet shuffling against thick carpet became louder and the door was opened. He was tall and thin, in his forties, balding, wearing a grey suit. He had an air of smugness about him. She might have wanted to kick him, but the pill quickly warded off that impulse. 

“You’re early,” he said with a smirk, ushering her inside. After the novelty wore off, all hotel rooms looked the same – from the grottiest places to the five-star suites. A full-length mirror showed you the truth as you walked past it into the room. There was the bed, a desk with a blank notepad on it, two small armchairs under the window. A bowl of complimentary fruit sat on the table between them. The man gestured to Vin to take a seat on the bed. She took her coat off, hanging it from a hook, and did so, putting her hands in her lap. “Drink?” he asked, opening the minibar under the small television.   
“That would be nice,” she replied, trying to colour her voice with a smile. “My name is Elena.”  
“I don’t care, really,” he said, smiling at her once more and pouring her a shot of vodka. She nodded passively as the glass was handed to her, and then sipped from it. She was almost grateful – the worst was when they wanted intimacy. Sex was an easy transaction; it was easy to shut off and let it happen. The man knocked back his drink and unzipped himself.   
-  
She walked down the corridor back to the lift. Her breasts hurt and there were red marks on her waist from his fingers pressing too hard. The same insufferable song played in the lift on the way down, reminding her that life went on outside that hotel room. This comforted her. Things could have been worse. She could have been in prison, or on the streets, or still with Connor. The car journey was just as uneventful, and Niko didn’t say anything when she cried. She preferred it that way. His pity and a half-hearted attempt at comfort would have been too much to bear. 

Key already in hand, she unlocked the door to their flat, greeted by the smell of cooking. Ivan was sitting on the sofa. She didn’t understand why he stayed. He looked up as she came in, and she offered a smile, which he accepted with a nod. She pointed toward the bathroom and he blinked, so she took off her shoes and clothes and got into the shower. The water was hot, how she liked it, and her skin sang raw as she scoured it clean. Water purified. Heat absolved. She stood there for a few minutes, the bearable pain reminding her she was alive, and it was a simple pleasure, but effective. When she was ready, she slipped into her towelled robe and headed for the kitchen. Ivan had prepared her a bowl of soup. The dirty dish in the sink told her he had already eaten. She glanced at the clock. 10.30PM. She lifted her spoon and began to eat, and Ivan squeezed her shoulder on his way back into the bedroom. 

She poured herself a second bowlful of soup. It was still warm and it felt good to be full. After supper, she washed the dishes and dried them, then got softly into bed. He turned to face her, though he wouldn’t touch her. 

“I’m getting us away from here,” he said. “It will stop.”  
“What are you talking about?”  
“You will see. I will do it. I will make it stop.”   
“It’s not so bad, Ivan. I’m here now.”  
“We will go to France. Or Germany. We will live in the country. We will be together, have a family. We will get away, you will see.”  
She didn’t know what to do but hold his hand. It would be better in the morning, it always was. She would make it up to him, she’d find a way. It was only fantasy. They both knew the only way to get away would be to kill Yuri.


End file.
